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Flower's Friday Funeral poll.
I am apparently Mister BRC -- I want a state funeral. A big one. The whole nine yards. A national day of mourning. Flags at half-staff. A weeping Dan Rather on the evening news. My body lying in state under the Capitol dome for a few days. A riderless horse with a reversed boot in its stirrup leading the funeral procession. My flag-draped casket carried by an old horse-drawn artillery caisson. Current and deposed royalty and heads of state marching solemnly down a hush-filled avenue. Internment at Arlington National Cemetery. A marble monument.
But, unless I am elected president, I guess that won't happen. I'll settle for the traditional Irish Catholic thing -- a evening viewing at the funeral home in the ancestral homeland (the same ones that buried approximately 95% of my family), followed by the drunken wake at someone's house in which all will laugh and cry and say "Poor Not Bob; he's missing a hell of a party."
And my cousin Paddy will get into a fist-fight with my other cousin Paddy (they were married to sisters, until the first Paddy dumped her for a comely real estate agent, and now they don't speak to each other), and my Aunt Margaret Mary will tell my Aunt Mary Margaret that she drinks too much, and then one of the grandchildren will cry because the adults are yelling, and then everyone will laugh and say "remember that time Not Nick held Not Bob's head under water until he passed out?" and Not Nick will shake his head with a sad smile, and Aunt Margaret Mary will apologize to Aunt Mary Margaret, and Paddy will shake Paddy's hand (though the real estate agent will frown at the ex-wife and vice versa), and all will be temporarily well.
The following morning will be bright and cold, and the crisp air will make the hung-over heads of 97% of the adults (cousin Seamus is in AA, and cousin Maureen stops at the third Bushmills at family events because she's terrified that she will end up like Seamus) pound and throb with regret and remorse, and the traditional funeral Mass will be solemn, and the procession of cars will drive out to St. Michael's, where four generations of my family have been buried.
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